


Alone From Twelve To Seven

by RavenDoesStufff



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Dadza, Fluff, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, IRL Fic, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Sad with a Happy Ending, Self-Harm, Someone help, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur Soot-centric, i don't know how to tag, no beta we die like wilbur soot, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 09:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30019725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenDoesStufff/pseuds/RavenDoesStufff
Summary: Wilbur Soot hasn't had the greatest life. From terrible foster homes to the thoughts that swarm his head every night the universe can't seem to give him a break. So, when he gets put in a house that actually seems to care it is kind of hard to believe. Maybe he'll realize he has a home with them.Or; Wilbur Soot is sad and his family finds out and helps him
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 6
Kudos: 115





	1. And I Mean- It's 1am Y'know?

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Lots of self-deprecating, aggressive derealization, mentions of depression, trouble sleeping

“You know what doesn’t help? Staring at screens.” Wilbur groaned. “If you don’t trust me just look it up!” WIlbur watched as Techno left the family room where he was sitting. ‘I’d look it up if I could, bitch.’ He’d been there for about… twenty minutes if his sense of time was correct. It wasn’t though, so it didn’t really matter. It was past midnight, it was dark outside, and he was awake. 

In the kitchen next to the family room the dishwasher filled the silence as it cleaned the dishes Phil had put into it earlier that night. He was glad it was that loud for once. Normally it was just annoying, but with the strong winds outside that mildly terrified him it blocked those out and filled in the silence. He didn’t like silence. 

To be fair, Wilbur didn’t know anyone who really liked complete and utter silence. He didn’t, Techno didn’t, Tommy didn’t… even Phil didn’t. The silence would quickly get way too overwhelming and other things would start to fill the silence. Things he didn’t like would start to fill the silence. Hence why he almost always looped music. He couldn’t do that right now though. 

Wilbur knew that Phil only wanted what was best for him. At least, that’s what his father constantly told him. He had turned off the WiFi because he wanted the middle child to gain a semi-decent sleep schedule so he could balance school and work more easily. Good try, but it didn’t really do much. Wil was still staying up until 2-4 in the morning. 

He also probably should mention the other problems like how the panic attacks and mental breakdowns hit so much more easily when he didn’t have access to over half of his coping mechanisms, but oh well. No guarantees. 

You would think that Wilbur would trust Dadza. That’s not entirely true. After being in abusive foster homes for years he still couldn’t completely tell if Phil was going to just give up on him like all the other houses did. He couldn’t just tell Phil things. What if Phil kicked him out? What if Phil left him to rot? This was the nicest home he had stayed in and he would like to remain here for as long as possible. 

Techno’s words echoed in his head.   
“Make sure you get some sleep.”  
“Screens don’t help.”  
“Heh… Not like that for me.”

Those might seem like random phrases, but they weren’t. ‘Make sure you get some sleep’ told Wilbur that Techno thought he was irresponsible and wouldn’t fall asleep tonight. Well, maybe he wouldn’t. He could pull an all-nighter and probably be fine if he took a nap after school. Oh wait… he was going to play Jackbox with some friends after school. Wilbur sighed, he wasn’t going to let his friends down because he was a dumb fucking idiot. 

The next line. ‘Screens don’t help.’ That was a reference as to how Wilbur was on his computer right now after saying that he couldn’t fall asleep. He knew that screens didn’t help people fall asleep, but he also couldn’t bring himself to care. So what if he fell asleep later. He’d just be tired. This wasn’t a new cycle. He also felt like a dumbass since Techno had to reinstate that fact to him. He knew. Techno knew he knew. He must just be an idiot. 

Lastly, the ‘Heh… Not like that for me’. That sentence was in reference to how Wilbur’s internet died every night at 12am. He hated that. Then, from that statement he learned that Techno didn’t have it. He wasn't surprised that Techno was the favorite. He got straight A’s and just in general was a nice person. Meanwhile, Wilbur was a fucking wreck. A train doomed to crash at the next bump in the rails. Phil would soon realize this and get rid of him. Wilbur was prepared for that. 

Wilbur moved his laptop off of his lap and stood up, bringing his glass with him. He needed a water refill. He felt odd. Like he was floating. Like nothing was quite real. Derealization was the word that struck him. It wasn’t the first time this has happened and he knew it wouldn’t be the last time, but it was still an odd feeling. He almost found it funny. Almost. 

He walked into the kitchen past the noisy dishwasher and refilled his glass of water from the sink. Sink water always tasted the best late at night. And I mean- it’s 1am, y’know? Quickly he downed the glass and refilled it before walking back to his computer. He should probably head back upstairs. Having to explain to anyone why he slept on the couch instead of his bed would be a not-so-fun topic. 

He pulled the laptop up and shoved it under his arm as he walked upstairs with his glass of water. The first thing he noticed when he arrived at his room was that it was too bright. He had all three of his lights on for whatever reason. Whatever past him had done. What even had he done earlier today..? He couldn’t remember. It didn’t really matter anyways. 

After he set down his glass of water and computer on his bed he went to turn off the lamp on his desk and the christmas lights that hung in between his windows. The only things that still remained on were the LED lights hung around the edges of his room. They were on the color purple right now. He didn’t love purple, but the purple lights gave his room a mystical vibe that he enjoyed quite a lot. 

Honestly, Wilbur wasn’t sure what he was going to do next. He didn’t have much to do. He couldn’t do schoolwork, or listen to music, or talk with friends, or… Those were really the main things that he did. That was kind of depressing. Well, it made sense considering he was clinically depressed. Thank you old foster homes!

Wilbur sighed, staring blankly at his computer. He didn’t have an ounce of focus right now and it certainly didn’t help that he felt like he was floating through time and space and that nothing was real. He couldn’t listen to the song he used for grounding either because guess what? He didn’t have WiFi. So much for Wisdom by Mother Mother. 

He was stuck here then. In this world that was oh so real and also not real at all. Wilbur hated it, but it wasn’t like he could do anything about it. Phil would hate him if he asked anyways. Hell, they all probably hate him already anyways… What’s one more thing to add to the list?


	2. Now It's 2am, And He's Breaking Down Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Not to much swearing but its there, depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, thoughts about ODing, trauma, reference to past abuse, Wilbur's just having a rough night mate

Wilbur sat there staring into nothing. His bed was rather comfy, it just wasn’t where he wanted to be. Well, he wanted to be in a lot of places right now and for once his bed wasn’t one of them. He wanted to be calling with Charlie, or making/getting a sweet snack from the kitchen, or just- somewhere other than his bed. He wasn’t going to move though. He couldn’t. Oh well. 

He had been in his bed almost the entire day except for when he went downstairs to eat at the family dinner. He was with Dadza, Techno, and Tommy. Wil had always thought that Dadza was a funny name, but it also made complete sense. He wouldn’t want to call anyone Dad after the last home he had been in where he had been forced to do that. They compromised with a mix of his name, Philza, and the word dad. Dadza. 

The rustling of the off-brand cinnamon toast crunch box he was eating handfuls of and his breathing were the only things that filled the silence. It was rather funny. Two days ago he had just been thinking about how silence fucking sucked. Which was true! It did! Though now he was willingly sitting in the silence. Nothing good was going to come out of this, but frankly nothing to bad would happen either. Probably. 

The silence was overwhelming, but at least it forced him to acknowledge his thoughts. And oh boy were there a lot of those. Lots of thoughts. Wilbur’s mind was never silent. Sometimes he wished it would shut the fuck up for a few seconds, but it never did. Oh well. 

If he had any mental capacity to do anything other than eat off-brand cinnamon toast crunch and sit on his bed right now then he would probably go downstairs to find something sweet to eat. He was pretty sure that recently Dadza had bought some chocolate chip granola bars. They weren’t his favorite, but they weren’t bad either. There also were some dried fruit bars that were better than he thought they would be. 

He really wanted to get up, but no. He couldn’t. He wanted more than anything to just go downstairs and refill his glass of water. To get a snack. To not be trapped in this overwhelming silence, but he was trapped here. He had no motivation to move and would probably remain here until the morning to mid afternoon of tomorrow. He had food here so he would probably be fine for at least a day if he didn’t move. 

If he could listen to music that would be great too… but he still hadn’t gained the courage to talk to Dadza about that. Maybe he would eventually. Wil wasn’t too sure anymore. He could probably suffer in silence. I mean, that was a lie. He could. He definitely could. At this point it was second nature to not tell anyone anything and to just hide it all inside. 

Charlie was probably the person on this Earth that knew him the best. Charlie had stuck with him through years in foster care. They always made sure they knew of ways to keep in touch with each other. Whether that was a phone number, an email address, or an address it didn’t matter. He wished he could be with Charlie right now. 

A small smile forced its way onto Wilbur’s face as he thought about one of his favorite memories with Charlie. The memory that gained Charlie the nickname Slimecicle, actually. He had been sitting outside a nice foster home with Charlie (had that foster home given him and Techno up two days later because they were “too difficult”? Yes, but that doesn’t matter right now) when an ice cream truck came by. For the jokes Charlie bought a popsicle with a minecraft slime on it called the Slimecicle. Wilbur never let him live that down. 

Damn. He loved Charlie. Mother fucker was like a brother to him other than Techno and Tommy. 

He had been on call with Charlie as the WiFi died…

No. Now wasn’t the time to think about that. Not like he could really help it if he did think about anything right now. Some topics were speeding through his brain like a rocket and others were lingering there until he acknowledged them… Heh. Another one just showed up. 

It was funny, if he was being honest. Well, to him it was funny. He thought about the stories he had read where people jumped off bridges and ended their own lives. Maybe he could do that. There was a bridge that was about thirty minutes away from this house that would be deadly to jump off of. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he would try to end it. Hell, it probably wouldn’t be the last. 

The walk wasn’t too hard... no. Wilbur couldn’t do that. Not to Charlie and frankly, not to his current family. Sure, there was the chance that Dadza would send them back any day now after realizing Wilbur was a mess he couldn’t fix, but oh well. Maybe he could end it before that happened… No, no. He couldn’t do that to Charlie or Techno. Well.. No. Think about another topic. Now wasn’t the time to be dealing with suicidal thoughts. 

Well, there isn’t really a “good time” to deal with suicidal thoughts, but right now especially wasn’t good. 

Wilbur blinked hard a few times as if the pressure would clear the thoughts from his mind. It didn’t really work, but at least it was slightly better than before. His room was really dark. The only lights turned on were the LEDs and currently their color was blue. It wasn’t as dark as the red, but it certainly wasn’t all that bright either. 

Blue was the color associated with sadness. Though the blue colored lights actually made Wilbur quite calm. Maybe they were a call for help? Who fucking knows at this point? No one would actually care enough to check up on him. Well, Charlie would.. And Techno would… and Dadza would… and Tommy would. Okay, maybe that previous statement was incorrect. 

He stared out at his room. His guitar was leaning up against his chair instead of on the stand. He had been playing it earlier… That had been fun. His ukulele was laying on the floor right next to it from when he broke down last night while singing a variety of songs. That was fun… not really. 

His fingers drummed absentmindedly on the now-empty box of off-brand Cinnamon Toast Crunch. He would throw it out eventually when he wasn’t just stuck on his bed. When that would be? He wasn’t sure. Eventually it would happen though and eventually was soon enough for him. He flinched and froze, a spike of adrenaline coursing through his veins, when he heard Techno’s door open. 

Techno’s room was right across from his own and even though you would assume the graceful man was light as a cat he stepped quite heavily when he was tired. He knew Techno wouldn’t come in. His twin probably thought that he had just passed out by accident with the LED lights still on. Honestly, Wilbur wouldn’t put it past himself to do that. He had done it in the past. 

He took a few deep breaths to calm his anxiety and went back to drumming his fingers on the cereal box absentmindedly. Techno was probably just going to refill his glass of water. He couldn’t blame his older twin. 2am water is the best. 

Heh. Last time he broke down it was 1am. Now it’s 2am and he’s breaking down again. Next time he would break down it was going to be 3am or some shit. He wouldn’t be surprised. At least the crunch of the cereal has drained out some of the silence, but now it was gone and he was trapped in the silence again. He should really just go to sleep, but he couldn’t bring himself to. 

His melatonin tablets seemed to stare at him from their place on his dresser. Can you overdose on melatonin? He wasn’t going to answer that. One, as much as trying it would be funny uh- n o. Secondly, he also wasn’t going to look it up because there’s the chance that somehow either his school or family would find out and that’s just bad in general. He could take like- two tonight instead of one though right? 

Take too much and make it feel like he’s kinda doing it but also not since they activate quickly and he passes out soon after he takes them. 

That would be funny. Wilbur pushes himself up from where he sat and awkwardly crawls across his bed so he could reach over to his dresser, which was arm's length from the bed, and grab the melatonin tablets bottle. He flipped it over and looked at the back again. Right. The dosage was one. He would just take two and pass out slightly faster. It wasn’t like he was taking twelve or anything. 

Yeah. That’s fine. 

Wilbur flipped open the cap and quickly popped two of the strawberry-flavored tablets into his mouth. He flipped the cap closed as he chewed the tablets and swallowed them. With the melatonin tablets back on his dresser he started clearing off a space on his bed that would be big enough for sleeping. At least he had turned on his heated blanket hours ago so he didn’t have to worry about that right now. 

Wilbur finally moved enough things aside that he had a place to sleep. He grabbed his favorite stuffed animal and laid his head down on the pillow and pulled the heated blanket up so it covered him completely. The melatonin was already kicking in, thank goodness, as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.


	3. It's 3am, So Who Gives A Shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mental breakdown, panic attak, suicidal thoughts, self-harm thoughts, self-harm scars, Wilbur Soot needs a hug, crying, trauma, reference to past self-harm, reference to past abuse, it's rough guys

Wilbur’s hands shook in front of him as he sat curled up in the corner of his bed. Now was not the time to have a mental breakdown or panic attack or whatever this was. It just- no. Not the fucking time. Well, to be fair, there never really was a time, but now was especially not a good time. Why? It’s fucking 3am. 

He found it rather funny that only yesterday he had been joking about how his next bad mental breakdown would be at 3am. Whoop dee doo! It was 3am and he was breaking down over a tiny thing he could do in the morning. He hadn’t finished his English essay even though he had weeks to prepare. He was a procrastinator and that killed him. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t like English. He loved English. Especially when they could look at song lyrics or poems and analyze those things. English was one of the classes he was passing at the moment. This Essay was a huge part of his grade though and he hadn’t finished it. Could he wake up in the morning and finish it? Yes. Did that change anything about his current mental state? No. 

This was literally the equivalent of crying over spilled milk. It didn’t matter and yet here he was crying about it. I guess that’s what he got for suppressing it for three hours as he played his guitar and tried to think happy thoughts. Well, he did the first part. He played guitar. Thinking happy thoughts wasn’t going to fucking help him at the moment. 

He rubbed his hands against his face, trying to feel something, anything, that would stop whatever state he was currently in. He sat up a bit and unraveled his sleeve to scratch his arm. That would help. Wait… 

Wilbur felt as his nails dug into his skin and the white marks that followed appeared. No… no he couldn’t do that. Wasn’t that- that was labeled as self-harm wasn’t it? He looked down at his arm. The two marks that would be there permanently due to past self harm seemed to glow in the blue light of his LEDs. He knew they were much more visible to him than to anyone else, but it was kind of hard to just… not see them. 

He took his hand away from his arm, settling it on his lap as he just stared at his arm. In general, it wasn’t to bad. He wasn’t strong and didn’t have muscles like Techno. He was just… pale… with scars there to permanently remind him of his past. Well, he had many scars to remind him of his past, but those ones in particular reminded him of what had happened to him because of it. 

A small chuckle left his mouth as he looked at them. Who gave a shit if he added more there? Not Techno, not Phil, not Tommy, not Charlie.. Not anyone. They would just sting for a little bit before existing. That didn’t sound too bad to him. Wilbur slid off his bed, a small smile on his face. Then he saw his calendar. 

How... How many days clean was he? Wil walked over to the calendar and flipped back until he saw the red X that anyone else could mark as just an important date. January 14th, 2021. He quickly counted the days until he got to where he currently was. One month and eighteen days. Well, technically it was nineteen days but also not really. 

You see? Wilbur didn’t really count it as the next day until he slept. Hence why all-nighters messed up everything about him but that didn’t really matter. So, although technically today was March 5th, it was still March 4th and you couldn’t tell him otherwise if you tried. So, with that said, he was one month and eighteen days clean. 

Was he really going to lose his streak over a fucking English assignment? That ws a stupid question considering last time he relapsed it was due to basically the same predicament he was in right now. Of course he would. Was he going to though…

Wilbur knew that the pain would quickly clear up his brain and the panic attack/mental breakdown/whatever the fuck was happening right now would go away. It worked last time. Though if someone did find out they would probably just be disappointed in him. Actually, they probably were already disappointed in him. He was a shit brother, a shit son, and a shit friend anyways. No one would care. 

There was always the chance that someone would find out and maybe he would get sent to a mental hospital or something. He wasn’t really sure. He had heard terrible stories about those places so he had been able to avoid them thus far. Wil turned around and stared at his bedroom door. Was it worth it to go break down in the bathroom and leave a mark on his arm that he would never be able to make go away?

Now, a mentally stable person would say that there was no way that the plan listed above was worth it. To be fair, a mentally stable person wouldn’t be having these thoughts in the first place. Mentally stable people were lucky motherfuckers. Were they funny though… The traumatized bitches were always so funny. Well, other than Techno. Techno had no fucking sense of humor. 

That was a story for another day though. For now he had to decide whether he would just fucking die or fucking die in another font. 

Technically speaking, he should go wake Phil up and ask for help. Dadza had literally said that they could wake him any time if they were struggling. If Techno and Tommy did it on a regular basis, and Wilbur knew they did, then why couldn’t he? Oh right. Because of his anxiety, fear of rejection, the thoughts that Dadza didn’t care. The list goes on. 

Getting help would probably be the best course of action, but Wilbur didn’t have the mental capactiy to do that. Instead he stood there, staring at his door, shaking slightly while letting out ragged breaths. This was a combination of a panic attack and mental breakdown maybe? Was that even possible? Wilbur didn’t know. He also didn’t care. 

Wilbur blinked, and in a second he was on the floor. Did he fall? He didn’t feel himself bit the ground, but he must have. Nothing else explains why he was standing up and was now on the floor. It was probably that he was better here. He didn’t deserve a bed. He didn’t deserve anything. He deserved death. He could technically make that happen. 

‘No, suicidal thoughts was yesterday's thing.’ He thought to himself before letting out a small chuckle. The first day was just general breaking down, then he had a decent day, then it was a mix of random suicidal thoughts and now it was self-harm. He was joking. Most of those things were a daily occurence. His brain just seemed to have a main focus for some hours he guessed. It was kinda funny if he thought about it. 

The floor was rather cold. It wasn’t like his bed where he had his heated blanket to keep him warm. Instead the floor was significantly harder due to an old rug and colder because… everything. Heat rises. No heated blanket. At least he didn’t have a window open or anything. That would leave him fucking freezing if he was laying on the floor. 

A sharp ringing filled his ears and basically prevented him from feeling anything else. Was he gonna just fucking die or something? Spontaneous death! Great! He wouldn’t bother anyone anymore. He was kind of disappointed when the ringing went away and just left him and his ragged breathing, and terrible thoughts, and just… everything on the floor. The floor was a great place to have a mental breakdown though. 

Everything hurt. Physically, mentally, emotionally. It was all just pain. So he let it all out. It isn’t like there was anyone awake to hear it. Sobs wracked his entire body as he curled into a ball on the floor. The floor was comfortable. Probably because he wasn’t in reality enough to remember how hard and uncomfortable it actually was. 

He wanted everything to just go away. 

This would be much better accompanied by some music. What were some good artists and songs for right now? Art is Dead and/or Rant by Bo Burnham. Hilarious songs that made Wilbur feel like he wasn’t alone and also made him think about how he related to every word of Art Is Dead. He was a fucking attention seeker. He was an artist. He hated every bit of it. 

Hobo Johnson was also a good artist that was entirely concerning. Typical story was a song that was painful yet great to listen to… what were the lyrics of that one part? It’s the story of a kid who just wants to make a record, he loves to craft, but nobody ever cares about him? It was something like that. It would be nice to make a music album and he did quite enjoy making music, but nobody did care about him. They had no reason to care about him. He was a fuck-up to put it in the most simple terms. 

The crying and just general feelings of yuck had gone down since he was basically almost done breaking down severly for now. It was funny how soon after mental breakdowns the tiredness of everything caught up to you. Hell, he felt like he had taken 8 tablets of melatonin or something with how tired he was. Well, that’s what he gets for repressing the worst of a mental breakdown for three days straight. Oh well. It’s 3am, so who gives a shit. 

Wilbur turned to lay on his back and stare up at the ceiling, his eyes tracing the grooves in it. The blue light from his LEDs caused some interesting shadows on the shallow indents. It was rather pretty… Wibur yawned, not moving from the spot. It was nice here.


	4. It Was 4am, So Did Anyone Really Care?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Suicidal thoughts, thoughts about self-harming, he's having a rough night again, not eating, self-deprecating thoughts, derealizing, mental breakdown, not sleeping

Wilbur was just kind of watching as his sleep schedule just got ruined. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. It was kind of funny though. I mean… how many other teenagers sit on their bed being completely unable to fall asleep due to too many thoughts in their head. Oh, and it was 4am too. So, that was fun. 

He was sore all over from passing out on the floor last night which was just delightful to deal with. It was not fun to haul himself off of the floor in the morning, walk over to his phone which had his alarm, then hit snooze so he would work on his English essay. He finished it though! Barely, but he did it! Dadza would probably be proud. Either that or disappointed that he turned it in at the last minute. Wil didn’t plan on finding out. 

If he could Wilbur totally would have passed out on his bed right now. Though frankly if he closed his eyes he starts getting these wonderful things called flashbacks, and his brain wasn’t helping him simply exist either. The self-harming and suicidal thoughts coming back full force. Maybe he could get away with it tonight.

He knew Phil would be asleep due to the fact that he would wake up at 5am in order to get to work on time. Techno was a responsible student so he was definitely asleep right now. Tommy would probably be asleep too. Oh fuck. Tubbo had stayed overnight with Tommy so there was a significantly larger chance that they would both be up. Then there was also the fact that tomorrow was a Saturday so it didn’t matter if there was school or not, so potentially everyone except Phil could be awake in the household. 

Wilbur couldn’t do it then! There’s too many chances that he would get caught, and he would rather not go to a mental hospital or whatever. 

Why even was he breaking down this badly? He had actually had a pretty okay day. Other than waking up early to finish the English essay he had met with his Therapist today and they had talked through some stuff. That was generally a good thing. After that he had gone over to Charlie’s house and basically spent the rest of the afternoon, including supper time, there. He probably would have stayed over had it not been for the fact that Charlie had work in the morning. 

It had been a pretty okay day filled with some nicer stuff. So why was he breaking down now? He was just a fucking attention seeking whore who couldn’t appreciate the good things in life. He always had to be focused on the negative aspects of existance and it fucking sucked. He couldn’t be a grateful child and instead was a brat. That’s why he deserved the shit that happened to it. Well,some of it, not all of it obviously. 

You know who didn’t deserve to go through the shit he did to put up with the shit he went through? Techno, Charlie, Tommy… the list goes on. He was such a piece of shit. They all just wanted to live a happy life, yet he was here interrupting that. They would be better off without him… 

It was getting to the point where he should really tell someone about the thoughts soon. They were getting really, really bad again. The last time things had been this bad he almost… No. No. Don’t think about it. We’re fine. He’s fine. We’re safe not in that stupid motherfucking house with the piece of shit- Maybe he needed to calm down on the swearing. He was starting to sound like Tommy. 

Wil chuckled at that. Tommy, his younger brother (through adoption), was really a great kid. He didn’t deserve any of the shit he had gone through. He seemed to be doing significantly better now though, and he had Tubbo and Dadza and Techno to help him. Wilbur probably wouldn’t be much help. He could comfort people, just not a well as he used to. 

So much had changed. Wilbur grew up, gained more trauma, became depressed… Actually, he wasn’t going to list it all. Look at him! He’s focusing on the negatives again. Wilbur sat, staring at the wall while on the side of his bed. He had his heated blanket up over his shoulders, but not enough to affect any of his movement. His room was just really fucking cold or he was really fucking cold. Either one was possible. 

Last time Wilbur checked not eating enough did cause people to just be colder. To be fair, he also didn’t have the energy to leave his bed, so of course he hadn’t been eating enough. He hadn’t really gone to school recently. Dadza probably knew by now… He was getting his assignments from Charlie, filling them out, then telling Charlie to bring them back. It kept his grades above Fs in some of his classes. 

Wilbur looked down to see his legs swinging and his heels hitting the wooden frame of his bed. He didn’t really feel it though. He didn’t really feel like he was here in general. Derealization. Now, technically speaking he knew like- so many methods to help ground him, but he wasn’t going to do any of them. He would stay up in the clouds. It sucked, but who gives a shit about him. It was fine. 

It was what.. A Saturday now? Technically speaking, if he wanted to he could pull an all-nighter. He probably would have taken a nap in the afternoon anyways. Would he rather fall asleep and get plagued by nightmares, or pull an all-nighter and eventually be forced to sleep by his body and get nightmares either way. 

It was a lose-lose scenario so he might as well go to sleep now. At least if he was asleep he’d just get nightmares and not suicidal or self-harm or- He really had to stop going to list everything that was wrong with him. It wasn’t helping anyone here, and he knew that. He wasn’t really helping anyone by existing in general. Yeah… he should try and sleep before he did something stupid. 

Wilbur looked around for his melatonin tablets. His vision was blurry which was either from tears, not wearing his glasses, or just that blurry of derealization where nothing looks real. He wasn’t sure, it didn’t matter. It was honestly probably all three of those. Oh well. It was 4am, so did anyone really care? If you guessed no then you would be correct according to Wilbur. 

After a few minutes of looking around Wilbur found the bottle of tablets nestled in between his pillow and his song notebook. From when he used to have the energy to actually try and write songs They were all shit though anyways and he didn’t plan on releasing them anytime soon. He also didn’t have any way to produce them so that was another factor that came into play. 

The sound of the cap flipping open brought him back to reality just enough to realize how tired he already was. It was like he took fucking 24 melatonin tablets. Oh well. They tasted good and it didn’t really matter if he took some more stuff to help him sleep. The bottle did advertise a nice peaceful sleep anyways, so maybe it would help. It hadn’t yet, but maybe tonight it would. 

Wilbur poured a few into his hand. He vaguely identified the amount he took to be three before putting them into his mouth. The more he took the more peacefully he would sleep though. Right? Something inside Wilbur’s brain told him that the thought before was just entirely incorrect, but he ignored it. 

Wil laid down and pulled the heated blanket over his entire body. His pillow was rather long so he rested his head on the top part and wrapped his arms around the lower part so he could get the feel of hugging something. He shifted around for a few minutes before finding a comfortable position. It wasn’t long until he was asleep.


	5. It Was 5am, Oh Fuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Panic attack, self-deprecating thoughts, angst, self-harm, bad coping mechanisms, scars, bloom, mention of past self-harm, angst

No. No. No. No! Wilbur paced back and forth across his room. His hands were pulling at his hair in an attempt to make the voice go the fuck away. He couldn’t deal with them tonight. He couldn’t. He had to get them to go away. There must be some way to get them to go away. 

He needed to be in control. 

Wilbur looked up from the path he was pacing on the floor to scan the room for anything that could help. He could see his guitar, ukulele, song notebook, iPad, calendar, glass without water, wait calendar! Wilbur had it flipped open to January from when he was checking something earlier today. The big red X stared at him and he stared back. That was a solution. 

That was a fix. How long was he clean..? Eh, it didn’t matter at the moment. It would matter when he woke up, realized what he had done, and was disappointed in himself. That time wasn’t right now though. So the tall boy opened his room door and ran downstairs. Years of practice taught him how to step basically silently, so he hoped that he could rely on those skills right now. 

The bottom of the stairs led directly into the kitchen. Outside the window by the table he could see some light starting to filter in. According to an online “friend” (they weren’t really in contact anymore) he had in America it got brighter here much earlier than it did there. So instead of getting light at 8am here like it did in America, it got light at 5am. 

He scanned the kitchen for where the knives were. He didn’t come down here that often so he still didn’t have a clue where most of the things were other than basic utensils like forks and spoons, plates, and glasses were. After about a minute of searching Wilbur found the knife block next to the coffee maker. Odd placement but Wil wouldn’t judge. 

Wilbur started going through the knives, trying to find one that would work for the purpose he needed it for. One knife after another he looked until he found one that looked good enough to use. He held it up so that the dim light coming through the window caused the sharp metal to glint. It was rather beautiful… 

The voices were still going strong though. Maybe he should stop referring to the really bad thoughts as voices. It did kind of make it sound weird, but it also was significantly easier to say “the voices are saying bad stuff again” than to say “my thoughts are pretty fucked up right now”. Saying the second one was just admitting that you weren’t okay and that was kind of hard. Thank you previous shit foster homes. 

Wil stared at the knife for a second more before placing it down on the counter and rolling back his sleeve. Currently he was wearing a yellow sweater that Charlie Slimecicle had gotten him for his birthday a while back. He wasn’t a big fan of birthdays, but having a clothing item given to him by a friend was nice. He probably should wash it more often considering he’s been wearing it for a week now. Oh well, comfort sweater. 

His arm was ridiculously pale, probably from a combination of lack of food and that he didn’t go into the sun often. It was too open outside and he would much rather just stay in his room. He found the knife back in his hand. He brought it over to rest on his other arm next to the two scars from his previous time. He was going to make the voices go away.

The knife hovered there for a few seconds. Was Wilbur sure that he really wanted to do this? He knew it would make the voices shut the fuck up for once in their miserable lives. At the same time, what if he was just doing it for attention? Who cares. No one was going to find out anyways. He would take care of this with his shit coping mechanisms instead of bothering someone else about it.

Wilbur snapped out of his thoughts to look back down at the knife hovering over his skin. He ran it gently across his skin the first time, He was such a wimp. Couldn’t even self-harm correctly. Wilbur let out a quiet laugh and ran the knife along the same spot, applying enough pressure to break the skin. No blood was coming out yet though. He wanted blood. 

The knife was run along that spot a second time. This time blood came out of the cut. Not a lot of it, but enough that it was clearly visible. That made Wilbur happy. The voices had shut up. He was in control. He needed to stay in control. One cut turned into two cuts next to the two scars. It was beautiful…

He was tempted to stop at this point. The voices had been gone for at least five minutes now, but he wanted them gone forever. If he kept doing it they would stay at bay. The pain in his arm drowned out the rest of his pain and that was oh so nice. He wanted it to stay like this forever. He wanted to be free from the pain of life. He could do that with this knife.

“Wilbur?”

Fuck. 

Wilbur spun around, hiding his injured arm and the knife behind his back while trying to look calm, cool, and collected. The tears on his face very quickly betrayed him. Now, Wilbur was going to get found out. Phil would find out what a shit person he was and he would get sent back to the home to get sent to a shit foster family. Even though he had barely had any interactions with this family it was still nice here. He didn’t have to worry about getting beaten or getting all his stuff thrown out. He wanted to stay here, and he had fucked it up. 

He opened his mouth to say something in response to Phil, but a sudden ball of emotions came and clogged up his throat preventing him from speaking. So, instead of responding he just closed his mouth. Behind his back he switched the knife to the hand on his injured arm and gave a small wave with his fine arm. What was Phil doing up this early? He looked at the clock. It was 5am. Oh fuck.

“Wil, are you okay, mate?” Phil took a few slow steps forward, slowly and deliberately. That was so that Wilbur would know everything Dadza was doing and wouldn’t have to worry about anything happening. At least, that’s what Wilbur thought the reason was, but he couldn’t be entirely sure. 

Wilbur nodded, a clear lie, but he wasn’t just going to say no. Remember what he said about how asking for help was hard? Yeah, that’s what was happening right now. He was avoiding getting help because he didn’t need to bother anyone. 

“You don’t look fine.” Phil was being cautious with him. Wilbur found that entirely understandable. He probably looked pretty odd, standing there a crazed grin on his face while tears streamed down from his eyes. He also was very clearly hiding an arm behind his back. That wasn’t concerning at all. “Can I come closer and touch you?”

Wil paused for a second, thinking about his response. If Phil came closer and touched him than the man would definitely find out about what he had done today. Though, with how the situation was looking Wilbur had a feeling Dadza was going to find out either way. He nodded. “I’m sorry.” He let out, his voice cracking as he tried to stuff all his emotions away and not break down. 

Phil’s eyes gazed into his for a second and something seemed to click in the man’s eyes. Dadza came forward and stood in front of Wilbur. The latter was significantly taller than he was, but that didn’t stop him from putting his hand on the other’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. Can I see your other arm?” His voice was soft and comforting. Nothing like any of the houses he had before this. 

Wilbur inhaled a shaky breath and set the knife down on the counter behind him before bringing his arm around so that Phil could see it. The two red marks stood out from his skin like a sore thumb, but he didn’t mind. “We need to clean these up and bandage them so they don’t get infected. Are you going to be okay if I leave you here for a second?”

He wanted to say yes, Wil really did. Though currently he was terrified of himself so he didn’t think that was a good idea. He shook his head and Phil nodded, gently taking the hand of the uninjured arm and he led Wilbur to the bathroom. Under the sink was a small medical kit with bandages, disinfectants, pain killers, and a few other random things that could be of use. Phil took out the disinfectant and gently took Wilbur's arm in his hands. 

The cleaning stuff made the cuts sting worse, to which Wilbur let out a little hiss through his teeth. He knew it would help the cuts heal better and either scar less or not scar at all (probably the first one), but the stinging still wasn’t fun. Quickly, Phil was done taking care of Wilbur’s arm. The section of his arm in question had bandages over it and they were cleaned properly. Something Wilbur probably wouldn’t have done. 

“Are you okay, Wilbur? Do you want to talk about it now or wait until later?” Phil asked gently. Not in that pitying way that someone could be too gentle, but in that way where it just seemed like he cared. Phil… Phil cared. That struck Wilbur like a lightning bolt. Dadza actually cared about him. 

The man had been showing it the whole time. The way he had figured out what Wilbur’s favorite food to make was so he never had to ask for more ingredients. They were just there. The way his small stash of snacks in his room didn’t decrease. Phil must come into his room while he’s sleeping and refill it. Good thing he did considering that’s where a good portion of his food comes from. There were so many other things too that Wilbur hadn’t realized until now. This family actually gave a shit about him. 

Wilbur stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Phil, hugging him. He was clinging to the man like he was his lifeline. “Later please,” Wilbur mumbled. Phil nodded, hugging Wilbur back. It was a nice hug. A strong secure hug that reassured Wilbur that everything would be okay. Everything would be okay.

After a few minutes of just standing in the bathroom like that the two pulled away from each other. Wilbur still didn’t look the best, but he looked significantly better than he had only about fifteen minutes ago. “Wilbur, how about you go upstairs and get some rest. I have to go to work today, but tomorrow I can take the day off. Go ahead and sleep. I’ll come wake you up when I get back if you aren’t already awake. I have to go to work today, but tomorrow I can take the day off. I’ll call the school and tell them you won’t be coming in today. It’s all going to be okay. I love you, Wilbur.”

Wilbur nodded, a small smile on his face. Not a made up one to hide his real emotions or a crazy one to hide the insane amount of pain inside, but a real, genuine smile. “Bye, Phil.” Phil smiled back at Wilbur and the two of them walked out of the bathroom and parted ways. Wilbur went up to his room, and Phil went into the kitchen to make breakfast. It was all going to be okay.


	6. It Was 6am, So The Sun Was Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Nightmare, panic attack (almost), angst, Wilbur Soot needs a hug, getting kicked out, trauma,

“Get out! Leave and don’t fucking come back!” Wilbur’s breathing hitched as he stumbled backwards towards the door. Gone. He thought he would be safe, but he was wrong. He fumbled with the doorknob for a few seconds before swinging it open and running through. Then he was falling.. Falling… falling…

Wilbur woke up in a cold sweat, eyes dashing around the room wildly. He wasn’t in the void from outside the house anymore, but where was he then. Bed, dresser, desk, guitar, pile of clothes, closet door, food stash. He was in his room. He was in his room in Phil’s house. He had everything and he was fine? He was fine, right? Yeah, he was fine. 

It was just another fucking nightmare.

Wil inhaled shakily. Why did he get another nightmare!? For once he had a day that wasn’t exclusively him breaking down! It was actually a rather good day in his opinion. Phil called him in sick so he didn’t have to go to school yesterday and didn’t have to go today or tomorrow. “Mental health break days” as Phil called them.

After Phil had helped him after he broke down (to put it lightly) he had gone to bed and slept peacefully for the first time in way too long. It was a good 11 hour sleep, so by the time he woke up at 4pm Phil was home. Tommy was staying late at his friend ‘Ranboo’s’ house with Tubbo because the three of them needed to finish a project, and Techno was helping tutor some students after school, so the two of them had the house to themselves. They had talked a bit while cooking dinner, and, honestly, it was nice. 

They had discussed some boundaries and things they could do to help each other. Like, how to help Wilbur during panic attacks. How Phil can respect his privacy, but also check in and make sure he’s okay. It was nice. A lot of the other foster homes didn’t give a shit about how he felt. So, he was definitely glad when Dadza did. 

After he was done talking with Phil and Techno came home the three of them ate dinner together. By this point Wilbur started feeling a little overwhelmed with all the social interaction so he politely excused himself to go upstairs. He called with Charlie for a bit when he was up in his room, and he even picked up his guitar and ran through some songs while on call with Charlie. It was peaceful. It was nice. 

Midnight came, the wifi died. He still needed to talk to Phil about that, but with everything they had been talking about earlier he had forgotten. Out of pure spite he did hygeine stuff then took 11 melatonin and fucking passed out. Now, here he was a few hours later and on the verge of a fucking panic attack. He couldn’t have a single fully good 24 hours, could he. 

Now that Wilbur knew that the dream of Phil kicking him out was in fact a dream he thought back on it. I mean, it wasn’t entirely impossible that it could still happen. Even though Phil now semi-accurately knew about most of Wilbur’s mental problems at any moment he could decide that the teen was in too much trouble and kick him out. Phil wouldn’t do that though… right? No. He wouldn’t. He was safe here. 

Wilbur sniffled, making him realize that he had teared up at the thought of Phil kicking him out. Attachment. Fuck. At least his room wasn’t fully dark because that probably would have made everything worse. Instead dim light filtered through the curtains on his window. Wilbur glanced around his room, looking for either his phone or the clock. Whichever he could find first. He finally found the clock giving a dim red glow from where it was about to fall off his desk. 

Ah, it was 6am, so the sun was rising. 

Wilbur stiffened a little when he heard a knock at the door, followed by an, “Ay, man? You doin’ okay in there?” Was that… Tommy? Wilbur hadn’t talked with Tommy all that much. He knew very little about the child since both of them either hadn’t had time to talk when they were both out of their rooms or Wilbur was hiding in his room. Tommy was checking on him even though they barely knew each other. That was kind of sweet. 

After Wilbur just fucking forgot to give a response Tommy let himself in. The light from the hallway was way too bright for Wilbur’s eyes as he put an arm over his eyes to shield them. He heard Tommy shut the door quickly. “Sorry about that, Big Man.” The younger teen walked over and sat down on the other side of Wil’s bed. “How you doin’? I thought I heard some cryin’ from the hallway and wanted to check in.”

So Tommy had heard Wilbur’s sniffling and decided to check in. How nice. “Just a nightmare, Tommy. ‘M fine.” Wilbur raised his head to make eye contact with Tommy for a few seconds before looking away. Neither brother was all that good at eye contact; so the looking away didn’t bother either of them. 

“Well, whether you’re fine or not TommyInnit is here to cheer you the fuck up.” 

“What the fuck-”

Tommy stood up on top of the bed before jumping off and landing on the ground with a soft thud. “What do you have in here, Wilby. I’ve never been in your room before.” Tommy started walking around the room looking at the different things like his guitar and stuff. 

Wilbur took a second to process what Tommy just said. “Did you just call me Wilby?” With how fast Tommy turned around Wilbur was almost positive that the lanky teen was going to just fall over. It was quite an amusing sight if you asked him. 

“I did not call you Wilby.” Tommy deadpanned, staring at Wilbur directly for a second before going back to looking around. 

“You definitely called me Wilby. Awwww. You can call me Wilby, Tommy.” Wilbur let a teasing tone slip into his voice as he teased his younger brother. He honestly hadn’t expected conversation between the two of them to flow too easily. He was getting proved wrong though, so that’s fun. 

“I am not going to fuckin’ call you Wilby.” Tommy said, mock anger flooding into his tone as he continued the playful banter. Before Wilbur could get another word in Tommy continued to talk, “So… you play guitar? Can I hear you play guitar? I’ve kinda heard you playin’ through the walls before, but I want to actually hear you play.” 

Wilbur shrugged before grabbing his guitar off of its guitar stand. He quickly went through the process of tuning it. “Any songs you want me to play in particular?” Tommy shook his head, before sitting on the ground staring at Wilbur waiting for him to start playing. A ball of nerves hit Wilbur as he decided to choose a song. Wait, he could just play one of his songs. That way if he fucked up Tommy wouldn’t be able to tell. Which one… uh… Saline Solution. Yeah, that one worked. 

He began playing out the first couple of chords and just let muscle memory do the rest as he sang and played through the song. Tommy sat on the ground in aw the whole time. He wanted to learn how to play an instrument, but had been a choir kid for most of his life now. Maybe he could ask Wilbur or Phil or Techno to teach him an instrument since all of them knew at least one. 

Tommy tried to listen and see if he could identify what song his older brother was playing. He couldn’t seem to recognize it though, and that said a lot. Tommy listened to a shit ton of music with Tubbo and Ranboo almost all the time. He had heard most of the current most popular songs, way to many Beatles songs, and even more from before that. In general he just knew a lot about music. Maybe he just hadn’t heard it before then. He could ask Wil about it though. 

Wilbur finished the song and set his guitar to the side as Tommy clapped. “That was pretty cool. What is that song called? I don’t think I’ve heard it before.” 

Wil panicked for a second. Did he tell Tommy that he wrote the song? Maybe Tommy would be disappointed if he did. Wait, didn’t he just say it was cool. He wouldn’t be disappointed that he wrote it if he said it was cool. “Saline Solution. I uh- I wrote it.” 

“Really, man? That’s fuckin’ cool as fuck! You should like- record it and publish it or something. I don’t know.” Tommy’s smile on his face was genuine. It was one of those smiles that reached from ear to ear and could brighten up someone’s day. Wilbur really had gotten a great younger brother. 

Wilbur’s heart filled up with pride. Someone had actually liked one of the songs he’d written and not just ridiculed it or told him he should write something less sad. “Thanks, mate.” 

A comfortable silence fell over the room for a few minutes as Tommy went back to looking around. Wilbur didn’t mind Tommy snooping through his stuff. It’s not like he had much to hide anyways. Finally, Tommy interrupted that silence. “We’re like brothers, Wilbur.” 

A smile grew on Wilbur’s face. Yeah, they really were like brothers, weren’t they. “Don’t say that. I will cry.” Were the words that came out of his mouth instead. Tommy could tell that he was joking, but he knew that Wilbur really agreed. It could be told by the expression on his face and the way he said the words. It was nice. Wilbur looked at the clock. It was about 6:30. Huh, It was 6am and he wasn’t alone. “Don’t you have school today?”

“School is for the weak-”

“Tommy, you need to go to school, you little gremlin child.”

Tomm turned around from the fidget toy he had been playing with. “I am not a child, Wilbur! I am six. Foot. Three.” 

“Might as well be six foot one.” The younger brother groaned and chucked the fidget toy at Wilbur. It bounced off of his chest harmlessly, and Wilbur just picked it up and started playing with it. “But go to school or I’ll tell Dadza!”

“You’re not going to school though, bitch.”

“Because I am mentally ill and I cannot simply go to school right now.”

“And? I’m like- ninety percent sure that every person who’s been through the foster care system is fuckin’ mentally ill. It’s shit.” Wilbur nodded to that. Tommy wasn’t wrong in the slightest. 

“Go to school, Tommy. I will go call Dadza right now.” It wasn’t an empty threat. 

Tommy groaned and tossed a bouncy ball he had found on Wilbur’s dresser at Wil. “Fuck off, but okay. I’ll go to school I guess. I’ll see you after school, bitch.” 

“I’ll see you later, gremlin child.” He heard Tommy let out a growl of anger at that before flipping him off as the child walked out the door. 

Wilbur settled back down under his heated blanket. After the conversation he had with Tommy he realized that the panic attack that was coming on before was completely gone. Looked like he would be spending more time with the gremlin child if he could help it. He rather liked Tommy. Sure, he was mildly annoying, but he also vaguely remembered Tommy saying that everyone he’s met has thought he’s annoying at first. 

Silly gremlin child. Wilbur settled under his blanket and closed his eyes as he quickly fell back to sleep.


	7. It's 7am, And He Isn't Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Reference to past self-harm

Wilbur breathed in quietly through his nose before exhaling through his mouth. He was sitting curled up in the corner of one of the couches in the living room. Phil was sitting on the recliner like an old man. Techno had taken the opposite corner of this couch and Tommy was on the floor surrounded by blankets. Well, they all were wrapped in blankets, but Tommy especially so. 

After dinner yesterday Phil had suggested that he and Wilbur have a movie night, to which Wilbur agreed. After this Tommy somehow found out and joined whether the other two wanted him to or not. Then Tommy dragged Techno out to join them with the help of Wilbur. Phil didn’t have work the next day either so it was going to be a full night full of movie watching. 

Tommy set up the living room with a gazillion pillows and blankets he had found in all corners of the house. As much as he was The Big Man, no one can really complain with having a lot of pillows and blankets. Once it was set up Phil made a variety of snacks such as the classic popcorn and some other things like Trail Mix. Then, to finish off making the night perfect and relaxing Techno made his specialty hot chocolate. 

By then it was 10 o’clock pm and they all settled down to watch some movies. They had started with Tommy’s favorite, Up. Then they had just moved onto any other movies. Wilbur didn’t choose many for two main reasons. One, he didn’t really care as long as the movie wasn’t some shit movie for four year olds. Two, he didn’t want to choose something that no one else liked. His brain told him it wasn’t that big of a deal, but he disagreed so instead he only choose one movie, 

Now, it was 9 hours later and the credits of a movie were playing out on the screen, though Wilbur had turned off the volume so it didn’t disturb any of the sleeping people in the room. He was just sitting in the silence staring at the screen and occasionally looking at his family. It was kind of funny. It’s 7am, and he isn’t alone.

Wilbur shifted around in his seat, flinching a little when his injured arm rubbed against the fabric in an odd way. It was fine though. His arm was healing well and Wilbur was sure that the scars would be tiny to the point where they’d probably be invisible to everyone else. That was a reassuring thought. He was two days clean now. He should celebrate it. 

Quietly, Wilbur got up from his spot on the couch. His bare feet were cold against the hardwood floors, but other than that it was nice. The blankets were incredibly hot, almost suffocating, so this cool was a nice change. He supposes that he could just remove a blanket or two, but the weightedness of it was nice. It kind of felt like a hug if he was being honest. 

Once he was in the kitchen Wilbur looked around. What did he want..? He stepped over to the freezer and opened it up. Sure enough, there was a tub of ice cream inside. There was only enough for one person left so he figured the others wouldn’t mind if he ate straight from the tub. Wilbur walked over to the silverware drawer and grabbed a spoon before walking back into the living room. 

He sat back down on his corner of the couch next to the mountain of blankets that he had pushed aside earlier. He dug his toes into his pile of blankets that still retained some of the heat from earlier. Wilbur dug the spoon into the ice cream and took a bite. It was mint ice cream with oreo crumbs and chocolate and shit in it. He couldn’t see the name from where he was sitting, but it was very good and he highly recommended it.

The house was almost eerily quiet at this time of day. The light filtered through the curtains in an odd way and everything was just so quiet. Normally by now people would be up and moving around. Dadza would have left for work about an hour or so ago. Tommy and Techno would be either making breakfast or running out the door if they had to get school early. Wilbur would be sitting listening to music or something like that. Having the house quiet at 7am wasn’t a normal occurrence. 

It didn’t take long for Wilbur to finish the small amount of ice cream that was in the tub. He set it aside and adjusted the blankets so they covered his legs. They would be way too hot if they were higher than that. Wilbur was not in the mood to overheat this morning. That was a thing he did under his heated blanket when he was sad. He wasn’t the only person who did that… right? 

Oh well, it didn’t really matter. Wilbur snuggled further under his blanket. 

It had been a while since Wilbur had fallen asleep in the same room as one of his foster families and actually felt comfortable. Today that was changing though. Well, if Wilbur actually fell asleep. He was tired, but that didn’t mean he would fall asleep easily. Especially since the melatonin was upstairs and he was too comfortable to go grab it. 

Wilbur turned over when he heard a noise from where Phil was laying on the recliner. It looked like he had woken up at least somewhat. His hat that had previously slipped down over his eyes was now back upright on his head. “Wil?” He said quietly, a question of whether or not he was awake. Wilbur let out a small hum of confirmation. “You should get some sleep. I’m going to make waffles for breakfast in a bit.” 

Wil shrugged before adjusting the blankets again so he was nice and comfortable and not too hot. “Maybe.” 

“Maybe?” Phil asked. Wilbur nodded and Phil let out a little chuckle. “Do you want to come sit with me?” WIlbur thought about it for a second before climbing off of the couch and walking over to Phil, his blankets trailing behind him like a cape. He sat on the floor next to the arm of the recliner and after a few seconds he felt Phil start to lightly run his fingers through Wilbur’s hair, untangling the knots. 

Wilbur had to admit that it was very relaxing and made him feel even more tired than before. He shifted so that he was leaning sideways against the chair. His height came in handy for once so his head was resting on the armrest, not the side of the chair or in between the armrest and the actual chair. He felt Dadza continue to untangle his hair as he closed his eyes and just existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed and hopefully I'll start posting regularly on here! Have a good day!

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally just a vent fic that I turned into a series and decided to post so here. Take your Wilbur Soot angst.


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